


You Say Goodbye, and I Say Hello

by eve11



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Humor, M/M, Missing Scene, PWP, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-02-03 07:09:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1735655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eve11/pseuds/eve11
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"<i>We</i>," Rory echoed, "are going to have a proper send-off, bloke to bloke, before you apparently show up in our lives again."</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Say Goodbye, and I Say Hello

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PhoenixDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixDragon/gifts).



> Written for Phoenix Dragon, for reasons :)
> 
> Takes place at the end of "The Doctor, the Widow, and the Wardrobe"

**

The Doctor was nervous. Madge Arwell had put the fear of family into him, and suitably chastised, he had worked up the courage to visit Amy and Rory again. Well, he had worked up the courage to land on Earth. In Leadworth. Sometime in the early twenty-first century. He was fairly certain it was Christmas, from the taste of the chill air. He was however, not entirely sure about showing his face or knocking at the door, so he had purposefully landed a few blocks away.

Now he was striding down the walk, talking to his legs.

"Three blocks west," he was telling them. "All you have to do is walk three blocks west, three. . . no, no, now we're headed East, aren't we?"

He was indeed headed East, meandering down the street away from the light blue house with the dark blue door and the companions he'd abandoned. Left behind. Lied to--and he couldn't blame contrary body parts for those words, no. Those were all perfectly reasonable descriptions of what he'd done.

Still hoping to convince his lower half to turn around, he walked out under a street lamp and out onto some cobblestones, when a red Jaguar E-type turned the corner and nearly ran him over.

 _Rory's favorite car_ , he had time to think before his legs realized his brain was out to lunch, and flung him aside on their own volition. He managed to hook an arm around the lamp post and swung around before he met the ground. The Jag's brakes were still squealing when he stopped his angular momentum and sagged against the post, hearts racing.

The Jaguar screeched to a halt fifteen feet down the road, and then the reverse lights went on and it backed up down the cobblestones. The Doctor was fairly certain it was Christmas, dead of winter, lightly snowing in the late evening. the Jaguar's top was down anyway, and Rory Williams was dressed in the antithesis of Christmas sweaters; a Hawaiian shirt and a blue windbreaker. He pointed at the Doctor, incredulous. And then scowled.

"You are such an idiot! Do you have any shred of self-preservation?"

"Rory!" The Doctor tried to wave but had to catch himself from falling around the lamp post again. "Fancy meeting you here at Christmas, what a coincidence--"

"It's Christmas Eve, and I knew you'd be here. I didn't know you never learned to look both ways before crossing the street." He opened the passenger door. "Get in."

Well, who was he to argue with a testy companion who'd nearly run him over? As soon as his legs felt ready to co-operate, the Doctor got in.

**

"So," he said, when they were moving again.

"So," Rory answered, revving the engine. The top was still down, but they were moving slow enough for conversation over the wind. Not that Rory was saying much.

"I was going to pop by--" he started.

"Yeah, I know." Rory turned a corner and the Doctor saw a bulky contraption on his wrist. "River told me you'd be here. You'd better show up for dinner later. I've got a few years to wait and see if you do."

"I will. I mean, is that a--wait. Where are we going?" the Doctor asked.

" _We_ ," Rory echoed, "are going to have a proper send-off, bloke to bloke, before you apparently show up in our lives again."

The Jag revved again, and the Doctor held on. "A--a proper sendoff? Do I want to know…"

"Relax," said Rory. The Jaguar took a corner that momentarily squooshed the Doctor's nose into Rory's shoulder. He smelled like summer on Vlentex three, with a faint trace of non-linear time. "We're just going down to the pub."

**

They parked at a secluded edge of the lot by a median strip of sand giving way to hard-packed winter dirt and brown grass. The local pub was warm and dim. A few younger revelers crowded one end of the bar and the high-backed booths around the ancient brick oven in the back corner. But they had the bulk of the bar to themselves. Rory came back from the crowd with a glass and a bottle of single malt scotch. He sat a ginger beer on the bar and eased into the stool next to the Doctor, who was miserably perched on his own stool and seemed like he'd rather be dancing with a Dalek. Rory took a few sips of the scotch before he met the Doctor's eyes.

"I had champagne before, but I need something a little stronger this time. I just stole my own car." He jingled the keys. "Does that even count?" 

"Is that a vortex manipulator?" the Doctor chucked Rory's wrist.

"Yeah." He downed his drink and poured another. "It's River's." 

"River Song!" The Doctor took a swig of the ginger beer and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "I should have known this… whatever-this-is, was her doing."

Rory took a sip and clunked his glass down. " _Your_ doing," he said, louder than he'd intended. "You gave us a house and a car and then you just . . . left. Without even saying goodbye."

The Doctor thought back to that day, ages ago now, for him. But apparently it was a lot fresher for Rory. "I told you why--"

"You told _Amy_. And you are damned lucky you did, or I'd have socked you by now." His words were harsh but it was more from hurt than anger. He looked over the Doctor from head to toe. Finally, he sighed. "Amy was smarter than me. She knew not to let you out of her sight until she'd gotten a word of truth out of you."

The Doctor rubbed a hand across his forehead. He was cornered now, but he realized he deserved it. He'd spent so long navigating the human emotions of this triangle: jealousy, adversary, competition, and even after the Dream Lord and after the Centurion and River and Apalapachia and all of it, he'd not figured it out. Not until now. 

Rory wasn't the one who'd been putting up walls. 

"Rory," he finally said. He took his hand, brushed a thumb along the knuckle. "Beautiful Rory. You're right. I'm an idiot." 

It must have been something in his eyes to convince Rory he'd caught on. He gave a short huff of laughter, the anger and hurt soothed over, or at least starting. He tapped the ginger beer bottle and ghosted a smile.

"You're an idiot who owes me a drink." 

"Down the pub. Bloke to bloke," said the Doctor, and downed the bottle.

**

Four ginger beers later, Rory had left to find another round, and the Doctor was giving his hands a stern talking-to. 

"No more touching!" he was muttering to each of his fingers, and why did it seem like he had so many more than ten? "No--no, this is Rory Pond and he is _married!_ " But Rory's hand had been on his knee, and it had felt nice, and he smelled like scotch mixed with the ice-flower scent of the crystal cascades on Vlentex, where River had loaned him her manipulator to go track down her rubbish husband… 

_Husband_.

"And _you_ are married!" he suddenly remembered, hissing the words at his thumb. "He's your--" 

Another bottle clunked down in front of him and he nearly knocked it over, before knocking it back and somehow rolling it empty across the bar. But then his hands had nothing to hold onto again, and Rory was sitting down next to him, and well he tried to reposition himself to make it easier for the hands to follow the 'no touching' directive and then somehow the whole room was spinning and…

"Whoa, Doctor!" he heard Rory say from far away, and then he'd fallen off the stool and onto the floor.

**

After that, the "no touching" directive had gone out the window. Rory was too drunk to concentrate but was trying to check the Doctor's pupils anyhow, and when that failed he was wrapping an arm around the Doctor's waist and telling him they needed some air and a stroll and no, the car might just have to stay at the pub for the night.

The Doctor wasn't thinking entirely clearly, because instead of metabolizing the ginger beer and straightening up and walking away under his own power, he was leaning heavily into Rory and feeling the muscles of his arms around his back, and the warm hand on his hip, and his trousers were getting uncomfortable. Rory was walking with eyes half-closed, breathing at the Doctor's neck and laughing, and the Doctor could see the bulge in his trousers as well when he was looking that way. He was giddy for the first time in aeons, and he was going to have to have a strict conversation with his mouth later on for piping up with, "The roof!" in the middle of it all.

"The what?" asked Rory, stopping and swaying in place. His breath puffed into the cold, sweet and sharp from the scotch.

"Of the car," the Doctor enunciated. "You should lever it up if you're keeping her parked down here for the night."

Which was how they ended up in the car, both trying to work the switch for the roof, with all that touching again. When the hydraulics whirled, Rory whooped like they'd saved the world. The Doctor laughed, and as the roof closed them into relative darkness, Rory leaned over and kissed him. 

The Doctor sighed into the kiss like it had been years coming. His lips and fingertips were electrified from the contact, and his hands had to be on Rory's skin immediately. He found the edge of his windbreaker and the buttons of his Hawaiian shirt, pushing it up until he contacted the taut warm skin of Rory's stomach. They deepened the kiss, Rory's hands moving up to cup the Doctor's head behind his ear. The Doctor moaned, his cock throbbing against his trousers but stymied from contact by the gear shift and dash. He flailed a hand backward, still kissing and caressing, and flicked the door open. The shock of cold air should have brought him to his senses, but instead it only made him take a breath like one would before an icy plunge, before raising a finger, releasing Rory and tumbling out the door, the angles and textures of the seat jolting contact through to his rock-hard cock with every touch.

He was across the bonnet and over to the driver's side before he could really register the cold, opening the door and sliding his hands up Rory's legs as he swung them out to sit sideways in the seat. His shirt was still bunched up and the Doctor could see the gooseflesh rise on his skin from the chill, a contrast to the heat that was rising from his tight trousers.

"Are you…?" Rory started to ask, but the Doctor palmed him through his trousers and Rory's question devolved to a moan. He cradled the Doctor's head, fingers carding his scalp and directing him down to his groin, even as the Doctor's hands quested up up up his thighs to flick open the button of his trousers, unzip them and shimmy them down over his hips. Rory's erection was arced under the fabric of his pants until the Doctor found him and released him, breathing onto his skin, tightening his grip on Rory's hips and taking him in to his mouth, the salt and sweat and taste of him mixing with the fizzy ginger feel in his mouth, making his own cock throb again in its trap of trousers. 

"Oh god, Doctor--" Rory gasped.

 _Married!_ his brain tried to say, and that only made it more wicked and electrifying.

He sucked and licked as Rory writhed under him, fingers tracing whorls against his scalp. His tongue traced the underside of Rory's cock as it stood ramrod straight and thick around his lips. They moved together and he went shallower, adding a hand to work Rory's base until Rory twisted his hands in his hair, shuddered, and came with a cry beneath him. He hardly had time to swallow before Rory was sliding down off the seat out into the sand, dragging him upward and then pushing them both up until he had the Doctor all but standing. 

"You don't have to--" the Doctor started.

"I know," Rory murmured into his neck. "Shut up."

He turned them around and leaned the Doctor up against the side of the car, windows, canvas roof and all. He sunk to his knees and unzipped him. His cock felt like a brand, so hot against the cold air, and it took only a few full-throated swallows for him to come. Rory released him when he gasped and let the cold air hit his wet cock again, the sensation sparking ecstasy like the entire Vlentex crystal cascades tumbling beneath his skin, swirling and spinning and spilling. His knees gave out and he sunk down, Rory following next to him against the car, sweat evaporating off of them as their fingers twined together. 

Snow drifted down, dark and silent beneath the stars.

** 

He vaguely remembered the two of them stumbling back to the TARDIS. When he turned to work the key, he heard the sound of co-ordinates entered on an electric keypad. "Don't be late," said Rory, and by the time the Doctor turned around he was blinking against the flash-zap of the vortex manipulator.

"Goodbye, Rory Williams," he said, and slipped in to his empty ship.

It was another day before he stood in front of the blue door, ready for anything. Amy squirted him with a water pistol, and he steadfastly refused to be the first one to start hugging. Rory smiled and hugged him as well, holding on this time, for as long as he could, relief more than surprise written across his face. After dinner he slipped on a warm coat and hat, and jangled his car keys in his pocket. 

Content, Amy snuggled down into her blanket by the television, set to the 24-hour yule log hearth in lieu of a fireplace. "A drive, now?" she asked him. "Going to chase down the stars and bring them back here?"

Ensconced on the couch, the Doctor glanced outside under the street lamps when Rory opened the door. The curb and driveway were both empty. 

Rory just shrugged and smiled. "Among other things."

**


End file.
